


Of Gingerbread and Soot

by lovetheinsane



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, IM SO LATE TO THIS AND IM SORRY, M/M, Parentlock, Sherlock Secret Santa, Sherlock is an awesome dad, So is John, a bit occ, but just a bit angsty, holiday fluff, implied omegaverse, lets pretend traffic doesn't exsist alright?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3073010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetheinsane/pseuds/lovetheinsane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The detective blinked. “John, why is Hamish dressed up as a glittery, rotting corpse?”</p>
<p>John made a face. “Wha-no, Sherlock! He’s a gingerbread man!” he corrected, a bit horrified at his husband’s assumptions.</p>
<p>It was Sherlock’s turn to give John a confused look.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Gingerbread and Soot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [broadwaybound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/broadwaybound/gifts).



> Written for the lovely no-more-yielding-but-a-dream for the Sherlock Christmas exchange! She requested Johnlock, Fluff, Omegaverse, AU, Parentlock, Angst and I thought four and a half wasn't too bad!   
> SO SORRY THIS WAS SO LATE (barely skidding by in my time) but I hope you like it! :D 
> 
> I don't own BBC Sherlock and it's respective characters, I simply borrow them!  
> NOT BETA'D AND NOT BRIT PICKED!!!

The bedroom door slammed loudly open and John, who had been tying his shoes, sighs. _Here we go again,_ he mutters to himself and sure enough,

“JOOOHHHNNN! Lestrade called”, the world’s only, self-proclaimed, consulting detective bellowed. “Finally! Something interesting is happening!”

John looked up to see that his husband had changed out of his ratty, old pajamas and blue dressing gown and into one of his pristine suits for the first time in weeks. He looked like a boy that had just been told he could go on a shopping spree in a toy store.

Before the blogger could ask about the case’s specifics another door was slammed open, but this brunet made a less dramatic entrance.   

“Daddy? Papa? Have you seen my shoe?” asked the blue-eyed seven year-old currently wearing a piece of decorated, brown cardboard. He only had one shoe on and he looked distressed.

“It’s not under your messy bed?” John asked.

Hamish shook his head, his dark curls bobbing.

“Check our bedroom then, honey. You probably left it there last night when you and Papa were playing.”

“Right!” Hamish chirped and stiffly made his way to his parents’ bedroom. John smiled at the sight of Hamish hobbling quickly, but carefully, to their room for a few moments until the boy disappeared into said room.

Then John stood up and made his way to the kitchen to pack their lunches with Sherlock tailing him.

He was halfway through packing his own lunch when he noticed the look on Sherlock’s face. His partner looked…disturbed.

“Sherlock?” he asked.

The detective blinked. “John, why is Hamish dressed up as a glittery, rotting corpse?”

John made a face. “Wha-no, Sherlock! He’s a gingerbread man!” he corrected, a bit horrified at his husband’s assumptions.

It was Sherlock’s turn to give John a confused look.

“You know, those cookies people bake and decorate this time of year… Mrs. Hudson even made us some last year…”

“Alright,” Sherlock said slowly, as if John was not making sense. “And _why_ is our son dressed up like a holiday cookie?”

The older man gave his partner a ‘you have got to be kidding me’ look. He licked his lips before responding, “Sher-it’s for the Christmas recital our son is in…”

Sherlock looked at John blankly.

“You know, the one he hasn’t stopped talking about for a whole month. The one he’s going to sing in…”

“Oh, that,” Sherlock finally supplied.

“Yes, ‘that’, Sherlock! You seriously can’t tell me you forgot!” John was now packing Hamish’s lunch into his TARDIS lunchbox with a bit more force than necessary.

Sherlock passed John an apple juice carton. “I didn’t forget, John. My mind was just preoccupied with the case at the moment,” he reassured.  

John closed the lunchbox carefully. “Alright then. By the way, the recital starts at six, but do try to be there by five-thirty. I want to make sure we get good seats. Mrs. Hudson would kill us if we didn’t get this recorded!”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “About that…”

John knew that tone. He looked up at his partner.

“You _cannot_ be serious! Are you going to tell me that some last-minute case is more important to you than attending your son’s first Christmas recital?! One that he has been working on for weeks!” John wasn’t yelling, but his tone conveyed the same message. “Not to mention, tat we both have been reminding you about!”

Sherlock’s silence spoke volumes.   

The ex-army doctor stared incredulously and the consulting detective, giving him time to reconsider. When John saw that Sherlock wasn’t going to, he pursed his lips and crossed his arms.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes!” Sherlock winced slightly. John only called him by his full-name when he had made some unforgivable act; such as when he called Harry out on her drinking on her birthday…in front of her guests.

“John, I told you long ago—”

The doctor laughed humorlessly, but before he could cut loose on the detective someone tugged on his jumper.

John hadn’t even noticed when Hamish had made his way into the kitchen—with both shoes on.

“It’s alright, Daddy,” he said softly. Hamish looked at both of his fathers before continuing. “Don’t yell at Papa ‘cos I’m not sad he’s not going to watch me.”

Sherlock stared at his son with an unreadable expression. Hamish smiled a Watsonian smile at him. “He’s going to be solving a case, which is super important! Besides, I know he’ll do his best to go next time! Right, Papa?” He turned to look at Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded. “Right, Hamish.”

John did not look happy. Still, he sighed and gave his son a slight smile.

“Alright then,” he handed Hamish his lunchbox. “Hamish go get your backpack. We have to get going! I have to drop you off, then get to work and I cannot be late again this week.”

Hamish saluted him playfully. “Yes, Daddy!” He then proceeded to, once again, stiffly but quickly make his way up to his room. John took a calming breath before turning to look at Sherlock again.

When he did he knew Sherlock had something to say since Sherlock was looking everywhere but directly at John.

“Well?” John prompted, eyebrows rising slightly.

The younger man fiddled with his phone. “You’re going to the surgery, then?”

“Yep.” John grabbed his own lunch and walked into the living room. A Sherlock followed after him closely.

“So, you won’t be coming then?”

John turned to look at him seriously. “No, Sherlock, I won’t. I’m already taking a half-day in order to attend Hamish’s recital. I’m not going to miss work completely today. It’s flu season, they need all the help they can get.”

Sherlock just nods, obviously not happy that his blogger won’t be accompanying, but knowing he had angered John enough. The younger man stands silently and watches his husband get his coat.

“You know,” a soft voice interrupts his thoughts—which had been alternating between putting Lestrade’s clues together and Hamish’s recital. “Just because Hamish seems okay with you missing his recital doesn’t mean I’m not annoyed about it, Sherlock.”

“I know.”

John finished putting his coat on before moving to stand in front of Sherlock.

“Love, try to find a way to make it up to Hay, alright?” he requests sweetly, cupping Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock bends down and kisses John tenderly. “I will.”

“Since I won’t be with you, please be careful, love.” Another kiss. Sherlock just smiles smugly.

“DADDY! LET’S GO!!! I don’t want to be late!” says the Gingerbread man running down the stairs. Both John and Sherlock let out a burst of laughter at the sight that greets them— Hamish  wearing the mask as well.

►◄

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?! Actually, scratch that. You weren’t thinking and that’s the problem!” Lestrade yelled at the, currently, singed detective seated in front of him. 

Sherlock opened his mouth, but one of Lestrade’s looks shut him up. The DI continued his rant.

“I _told_ you to wait, but NO! The great Sherlock _Bloody_ Holmes couldn’t just _wait_ for the actualy police to arrive before he dashed away after a killer!”

“I was in a hurry!” Sherlock all but yelled back at Lestrade, frustration apparent on his face. “If I’d waited for you lot, I’d still be waiting!”

“Oh,” Lestrade crossed his arms in exasperation. “Explain to me, Mr. Holmes, explain to me what on Earth could be so damn important that you risked getting your head burned off by a suspect wielding a _blowtorch_?!” Lestrade demanded.

Most of Scotland Yard had turned to watch the DI’s blowout and were now eagerly waiting for Sherlock’s response. Sherlock wouldn’t be Sherlock is he hadn’t given his friend his infamous ‘Are you really that stupid?’ look before replying.

“If you really must know, Graham, Hamish is participating in a Christmas recital this evening and I would really rather _not_ miss his performance.

No one moved.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and, with a shove of the shock blanket that had been draped over his shoulders, he got up, turned and left.

He hadn’t made it very far when Greg called after him. Sherlock begrudgingly stopped and turned around sharply, which almost caused the DI to collide with him.

“Look, Sherlock, I’m sorry I went off on you like that mate. It’s just… John will murder me if anything happens to you.”

“I know,” Sherlock agrees, “but I knew what I was doing, Lestrade.”

Greg looked ready to argue that point but he let it go. “Sure. Anyways, what time does the recital start?”

“Six.”

Greg glanced down at his watch. “Sherlock! It’s six fifteen now!”

“I know, which is why I was trying to leave quickly,” Sherlock responds coldly. “Now, if you don’t mind—and even if you do—I’m leaving.” He attempted to walk away from Lestrade, but the DI held him back.

“I’ll come with you.”

The younger man quirked his eyebrow. “Really?”

Lestrade grinned. “Of course! I’m the boy’s uncle, aren’t I? And I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

“But the case—”

“Donovan can handle it. It’s just paperwork now anyways,” Greg interrupted.

Both men stared at each other for a bit (with Greg still grinning).

“Fine.”

 “Alright then! We’ll take the panda car then!” Greg said excitedly with a pat to Sherlock’s shoulder. And Sherlock was in such a hurry that he didn’t even fight Greg on getting into a police car.

They quickly made their to the car but before getting in Lestrade spoke, “ Sherlock?”

Said detective looked across the rooftop at the DI.

“It’s Greg, by the way.”

Sherlock grinned. “I know.”

►◄

John was nervous. Nervous and a bit miffed and all he had to do was sit and watch!

_At least I am sitting here,_ he thought bitterly to himself. Then he sighed.

In the years that they had been together Sherlock had canceled all sorts of events for last minute cases and he knew that this wouldn’t be the last time he did. Still, part of him constantly hoped that Sherlock would place everything having to do with their family above The Work and John, in turn, was constantly annoyed at that little part of him because he married his madman knowing what to expect. And he loved that of Sherlock. He loved not knowing what to expect—to be kept on edge.

John smiled slightly to himself.

He knew why he got to frustrated though. He didn’t want Hamish to grow up only to look back at all his achievements and notice that his Papa had been absent in all of them. The last thing John wanted was for Hamish to grow up resenting Sherlock.

John shook his head lightly to rid of those thoughts, he was at a Christmas recital afteral and Christmas recitals were supposed to be happy events! Especially if your son was performing, for the first time, in it. The doctor glanced at the kids currently performing a skit and then down at his program. According to it Hamish’s group would perform after two more groups.

Since there was no more use brooding about what could not be changed—not that he wanted to change Sherlock—John sat up and gave the children his complete attention.

He was so enraptured by the group of kids dancing to a _Nutcracker_ medley that one of the teachers had arranged, that he didn’t notice someone had sat next to him until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Did I miss him?” inquired the hand’s owner and John couldn’t help but grin.

John turned to face his husband and had to resist the urge to laugh.

Sherlock’s hair was a mess, but the best part was that both the blue scarf and parts of Sherlock’s face were covered in soot. John saw Greg grinning and obviously trying not to laugh as well. John smiled fondly at the sight.

_Sherlock must have been in quite a hurry if he hadn’t stopped to clean himself up,_ John pondered.

“Well?” insisted Sherlock.

“Nope,” John replied, popping the ‘p’. He took the hand on his shoulder and gave in a small peck. “We have one more group to go.”

“Great!” Lestrade chipped in. “I bet he’ll be fantastic! What’s he performing?”

“‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’,” Sherlock supplies before John can. “And of course he’ll do great; he’s a Watson-Holmes.”

►◄

In the end, like many other times, Sherlock proved himself right.

Hamish, covered head to toe in brown cardboard, glitter and pompoms, had danced and sang his way with the grace of a Holmes, the determination of a Watson and the confidence of a Watson-Holmes.

John had gone backstage to pick Hamish up and give him a change of clothes, leaving Lestrade and Sherlock behind while they reviewed the video. Sherlock seemed to think that it hadn’t quite captured Hamish’s performance.

When Sherlock spotted his family walking towards him—hand in hand—he felt a warmth bloom through him and he couldn’t help the grin that spread on his face. As soon as he was spotted Hamish let go of his dad’s hand and ran to him.

The boy jumped excitedly and Sherlock caught him with laugh, hoisting him up.

“Papa! You came!” Hamish giggled and snuggled into his Papa’s coat.

“Of course, love,” Sherlock responded, “Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

Hamish giggled. “Nope! But why are you so dirty?” The young boy smudged the soot running across Sherlock’s cheekbone.

“Your Papa here got blowtorched,” Greg supplied, causing John to look at Sherlock with a mixture of worry, shock and irritation—the classic ‘I told you to be safe, but you are an idiot’ look. Sherlock pretended not to see it.

“Uncle Lestrade!” exclaimed Hamish. “You came too.”

The DI tousled the boy’s hair. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

John was still giving Sherlock the look. The detective finally faced John and simply mouthed the word ‘Later’ at his husband. John just resigned himself.

The young boy jumped down excitedly, asking questions a mile a minute. “How did I do? Did I look funny? Because I felt funny.”

“You did great,” both dads reassured him. Sherlock bent down to kiss Hamish’s forehead. His son returned the action.

That seemed to please the boy. “Can we go get hot chocolate now?!” begged Hamish, using his beautiful, big blue eyes to his advantage.

John pretended to consider it.

“Please, daddy!”

“Yeah, John,” insisted Greg, playing along.

John still considered it as Sherlock “sneaked” up behind him and, while slowly wrapping his arm around his sweetheart’s waist, said softly, “John, Hamish worked really hard. I’m sure some hot chocolate—”

“And some pastries!” chirped Hamish.

Sherlock chuckled deeply, “And some pastries, wouldn’t hurt.”

The doctor chuckled. “Well, you’ve managed to convince me!” He grinned.

Their son jumped happily. “Yes! Let’s go uncle! I know the best little café around here. Daddy took me once and it uses REAL chocolate…”

Lestrade gave the boy his full attention as they made their way towards the exit. John and Sherlock couldn’t stop grinning at the sight.

“Glad you could make it” John said softly, watching Hamish explain the wonders of this chocolate they were going to drink.

“I am too.”

The pair turned to face each other, the intent to snog written clearly on their faces.

“PAPA! DADDY! Hurry UP!” Hamish yelled from the doorway.

John grinned when Sherlock took his hand and led him to the rest of their family.

_Yep_ , he thought,  _wouldn't want anything else._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you all have a Happy New Year! :D  
> Kudos and comments are like new cases to me!


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